Little Lewis
by BluePhyre
Summary: Wilbur's married, and Lewis hasn't seen hair nor hide of his cowlicked friend since he watched the ordeal. But Wilbur doesn't want it to stay that way. Make way for a new Robinson. Wilbur/Lewis Slash. 2nd in my 'Cestslash oneshot series.


**Disclaimer: I do not own _Meet the Robinsons_. Thank God, because otherwise it would have been veeeeeeeeery different...**

This is kinda a sequel to _Letting Go_, although it can stand on its own just as easily. Louise might make a bit more sense if you read _Letting Go_, and the background information would already be kind of there. So... Go read it. After this, if you want. It's farther in the past than this, but who cares? This is _Meet the Robinsons_. Time doesn't matter. Rofl. Reminds me of _An Hour with Wilbur Robinson_. Ah...

Oh, and if you're blind and didn't read the description, this is a cestslash of Lewis and Wilbur, so... be okay with that. I order you. Now, read.

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Ordinarily, as Lewis sat in his lab at the ripe age of sixteen, he would have been working on another invention – or something equally as genius, like contemplating the meaning of life or editing the next sermon he would give as a college professor; as a teacher to those who were older that him by quite a bit. But, as Wilbur, his _son_, stood before him, looking just as old as his students, Lewis could easily say it wouldn't be a normal day for the average inventor.

Not like he fit that mold. Not many inventors, even, won the Nobel Peace Prize four years in a row. But still, he tried to pretend there was _some _normality in his life; from the brain that rivalled Einstein's to his many astounding feats, not much could be conscidered the norm of human life in the early twenty-first century. Lewis liked to say all the people in his life were from the present, at least. What a lie.

But Wilbur's prescence wasn't what really bugged him. Nor was it the smiling face of Louise, Wilbur's wife. Something about her was odd, Lewis figured. The short, blonde, _spikey_ hair, the blue eyes, the spectacles that were big enough that, if the glass was broken they would make wonderful basketball hoops; it reminded him of someone very, very close to home. Even her love for science – her status as wannabe inventor – was a hint to the teen. God, even her _name_ was a spinoff of his!

But both Wilbur and Lewis left that subject untouched. Lewis, because it was very, very awkward to talk about his son's spouse before either of them were born, and Wilbur because he simply didn't want to add to a certain parental figure's ever-growing suspicion.

No, one of these factors really bothered Lewis; not as much as one, tiny, nearly foot-long factor did. That factor was... _Lewis_.

At first, Lewis had been confused, too. The bundle hidden in Louise's arms was cooing, crying, giggling, depending on its mood. Wilbur had taken long enough just sputter out a greeting – something very awry for his charismatic nature – for the bundle of cloth to have enough emotional phases.

Then, as Louise dumped the squirming thing into his arms, saying its name was Lewis, another emotion crossed Lewis' – not the bundle's, but the inventor's – face. As he stared into huge blue eyes, ran his hands over spikey blonde hair, swept a finger across a plump little cheek, Lewis felt a tinge of happiness that melted his heart, a hint of jealousy that such a beautiful thing could belong to Wilbur; without his doing.

But then, he awestruck genius pieced every little bit of information together. Baby. Blue eyes. Blonde hair. Lewis. Time machine. _Wilbur_. And then, Lewis – the older, more enraged one – all but blew up.

"You _stole_ me from the past!?" he bellowed, thrusting baby Lewis into Louise's arms as gently as he could – anger very rarely got the best of Lewis, but when it did it was _not_ pretty – before leaping to strangle his future son.

Wilbur screeched, leaping away from Lewis' tackle. There was a crash of many things – Lewis didn't notice he had all but demolished another three of his experiments – and the angry father was up again. Before he could move, however, to cause some well-deserved bodily harm to his son, said Wilbur popped up from behind him – a talent no one had really understood – and locked his dad's arms behind his back.

"I have a good explanation," he drawled, leaning in to let his breath tickle against Lewis' ear, if only for a moment, "if you would stop trying to kill me, your _only_ son, that is. Don't wanna make your namesake fatherless, now do you?"

Lewis grumbled something irritatedly about disobedient devil's spawn and kidnapping, but nodded in begrudged agreement. Might as well allow Wilbur his impendingly stupid argument before death, right? It was only fair.

So that was how Lewis found himself, staring at his son and daughter-in-law – who still looked uncannily like him, with her eyes reflecting a near perfect, although more boyish, reflection of herself – with the precious infant that looked exactly like him nestled against his chest.

"So you've met Lewis, Cornelius," Louise giggled, her smile bright and too familiar to be her own. Wilbur shifted his arm around her waist with an expression that neared a grimace – Lewis caught this – and kissed his wife's cheek. Lewis would like to say lovingly, but it didn't quite fit the bill.

"Cornelius," Wilbur said, his eyes apologizing for the awkwardness behind the name – he had never told Louise that his dad's name had once been Lewis, and somehow she hadn't caught on – as he stuttered on. "Lewis looks a lot like you, but it isn't what you think..."

"Exactly like me," Lewis muttered, staring down at the baby in his arms – he couldn't help but smile, almost bitterly - and tickling him under his round little chin. "I might not have seen my mom, but I _did_ see myself..."

Wilbur sighed. There was another touchy spot with his dad-gone-best-friend. Still, he continued. "You're holding your grandson," he explained. "Between your genes in me and Louise's looks, I guess he turned out to be a clone."

"Lewis got his name from me!" Louise exclaimed happily. Wilbur and Lewis exchanged exastperated looks. "Same color eyes, same color hair... He looks like a tiny little doppleganger! Though, between your genes in Wilbur and my own, he was destined to look like this!"

"Yeah, congratulations," Lewis said with an awkward laugh. "It's kind of weird, you know, meeting my grandson before I have any children." Louise laughed wholeheartedly, while Wilbur, well, not so much. When he went to coddle the little Lewis more, the woman sighed.

"I can see why Wilbur grew up to be so perfect," she sighed, smiling lovingly at Wilbur. He gave her a confused look instead, and Lewis paused to wrinkle his nose in disgust; did they have to be all gooey around _him_?

"And why would that be?" Wilbur demanded, without a hint of what would have been lovingly taunt in his voice. Instead, it was more... deadpanned.

Louise giggled; Lewis sighed. She really didn't know how to read Wilbur well... "Because he has such a doting father," she drawled. "Duh! I mean, he's a natural at age _sixteen_, and it's not even _his_ kid! It makes me want to go back in time to watch him with you..."

"I'd rather you didn't," Wilbur droned, his eyes boring into his father, who was pretending to be absorbed completely with the little one in his arms; he nearly was. But anyone could sense that intense a glare, even someone hypnotized by the cuteness of Wilbur's cowlick-less offspring.

And Lewis felt the same way. His parenting time with Wilbur – though he had yet to experience it – would definitely be just their own. No one could interrupt that, not even if Wilbur came up with the _brilliant_ idea of play dates.

Oh God, _that_ sent Lewis reeling. Wilbur had to be a trouble tyke when he was a baby, he just had to be. And if Wilbur played with _his own son_ when they were both children, something in the time stream would have to go wack. Not to mention, little Lewis could become as horribly attached to his dad-best friend as his father and grandfather had. Would it run in the family forever?

"You know," Louise drawled on, "I also had an uncle named Lewis." Both the inventor and his son were suddenly very interested in the mother's tale. "I never knew him, since my grandma had to give him away, but my mom named me after him. She was only born after my grandma could take care of a child..."

"In fact, he was dropped off at an orphanage around here," Louise continued, "but he was adopted after a while, and his name was changed. No one really knows who he is now, or if he died or something. All be know is that he _used_ to be Lewis, and that he'd be a teenager around this time, wherever he is."

Lewis laughed; how ironic would it be that this girl – his _daughter-in-law_ – could easily be... his neice? Wilbur felt less amused and more puke-ish; he was the one who had married his cousin – even by accident – and succumbed to inbreeding. How _fortunate_ for him...

"So, um," Lewis muttered, trying to get past what Louise had said with a smile, "why did you bring Lewis here? I'm sure I met him in the future, right?" He half expected to hear Wilbur's customary, "That is an excellent question!" but instead, he was answered by Louise.

Louise laughed and shook her head. "Of course you met him, silly," she giggled. "Wilbur made sure you were the first one to hold her besides the two of us." At this, Wilbur blushed. "But he wanted his best friend to meet little Lewis, too. Apparently, he doesn't consider you and future Cornelius as the same person."

"I do!" Wilbur protested, reaching his hands out for his son. "You're just... my dad then." Lewis complied, handing the tiny baby over and watched with surpise as Wilbur gazed at him with a look that could have easily belonged to Louise. _She_ was oblivious to Wilbur's hesitation with her, and _she_ loved the Robinson with all her heart. Obviously, Louise would be enthralled in family life. Wilbur didn't love Louise, a fact that was painfully obvious to everyone but his spouse herself, and a child with her would have seemed less lovable, Lewis thought.

But as he watched Wilbur play gently with the newborn, he smiled. Wilbur loved Lewis – little Lewis – more than anyone else could. It wounded Lewis' heart, somehow, as he watched his best friend – now at the age of twenty-four, which was an oddity for him to come back so far – kiss the baby's forehead.

Maybe he was yearning for kids; something too queer for a boy of sixteen to conscider natural. Maybe he just wanted consistent parents since _birth_, like little Lewis had. Or maybe, just maybe, he wished there was no Louise, no little Lewis, no delicate time stream. Just Lewis, the original, and his best friend, who was definitely something more, though there hadn't been time for such titling, of all time – which was a fitting title in such a circumstance – with a bright future ahead of them, where nothing would change. Where Lewis wouldn't suddenly find himself as Wilbur's fatherly figure.

It was useless to wish, Lewis thought, as he said his goodbyes to the family of three. It was useless to even think of anyone, anyone at all, except Franny. As much as he hated seeing the three happy – even moderately – together, he would hate it more if there was an accident, if he deleted Wilbur from the face of the earth, future or not. Little Lewis would go, too, and his namesake couldn't bear the guilt.

Not when little Lewis made Wilbur happy.

And it was that happiness that really mattered to Lewis. If he would have to be only Cornelius to Wilbur while Louise was around, so be it. If he had to be only Cornelius forever for Wilbur, that was fine. At least he would be someone.

As long as Wilbur was included, Cornelius would always be enough.

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Wow, kinda angsty ending. Of course, it has a silver lining. Lewis still hias Wilbur in his life. Nobody likes Louise. There's a mini Lewis out there now. And Lewis is jealous. Tee hee. Review, please? Then go read Letting Go if you haven't yet, and review that. Mmm. Sounds like a great idea, right? Right? GO! Bye.


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